


it's your day (and i'm here for it)

by dames_for_jamesbarnes



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Developing Relationship, F/F, Holidays, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff, emily prentiss is halloween and penelope garcia is valentine's day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:27:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29465736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dames_for_jamesbarnes/pseuds/dames_for_jamesbarnes
Summary: “What you did in there, it was pretty, uh, massively mindblowing,” Garcia says. The light has faded, just a little, as her hands once again wrap around files and she cocks her hip. “Do you always stun the socks off of everyone you come across or -”“Only the ones I like.”It comes out of nowhere, out of “Emily.” The little joke. But Garcia loves it, giggles, and bids her a farewell before going back to her office, leaving “Emily” there to watch her go. Feeling a little lighter as she does.
Relationships: Penelope Garcia/Emily Prentiss
Comments: 8
Kudos: 15





	it's your day (and i'm here for it)

**Author's Note:**

> tw: food mention, food. based off of this (https://qvid-pro-qvo.tumblr.com/post/641116503792599040/yeah-their-names-are-emily-prentiss-and-penelope).

She sits with her legs crossed, the files spread out before her. Her eyes scan each file, and when she presses her fingers to one she can’t help her little sigh.

Jason Gideon. Aaron Hotchner. Derek Morgan. Spencer Reid. Jennifer Jareau.

She feels it. The connection. The “red strings of fate.” The analogy makes her smile, a little twist of her lips. They’re connected, so intertwined that it’s difficult to sparse apart the individuals.

She thought long and hard before even opening these files. There was another there, wrapped around each one of them, _her_ protection… brilliant. Bold. And bright.

Her rules were pretty simple. Her loner status was well known, just because she liked the ability to roam, go where she pleased. Her reach wasn’t too wide after all, but where it did span she had a tight grip.

But this. This was different. There was an attraction here, a draw. She presses her fingers to Spencer again, feels his devotion like a drug, one that allows her to sink into that feeling for a second before pulling herself back out.

She likes roaming. She does. But the temptation of settling… it overwhelms her all at once.

She pushes the other files aside. Her eyes scan the manila folder before pushing it open carefully. She has to lean back, almost, but once it falls open the smiling face that looks up at her seems to settle her soul.

Penelope Garcia.

When she presses her fingers to the file, she can’t help but laugh. The pink resume. Bold, but, the humans tended to overlook the obvious when they could. Even profilers.

She sits back on her haunches. Looks once more into the eyes of every face open to her, and nods. She’ll be safe here. Comfortable here.

After all… if one can settle among the drabble for the long haul… what’s the harm in another? 

-

She doesn’t recall the last time she crossed paths with Garcia, when the last time their realms overlapped. She tries to think, dredges up what memories she can, but as always, when she limits herself in a strictly physical form, it exhausts her.

Garcia. It’s what she has to take to calling her, because Penelope feels too… human. Of course, Garcia takes to calling her “Emily” right off. Gives her a glowing smile, tilts her head, pushes her chin forward.

“It’s a pleasure!” she chirps. Offers her hand, and the world goes a bit hazy at the edges when she takes it, shakes, once, twice.

“Emily” watches her earrings dangle for a moment before she pulls her fingers back.

Garcia doesn’t seem to notice the shift. Just keeps smiling, though there’s a light in her eyes that can’t be missed. “Emily” is a little lost in it, but lets it play as a new person in a new unit in the Bureau, not as the collision of two beings who have no business being in the same room, let alone shaking hands.

“Of course,” she offers, instead of something more traditional. “I’m happy to be here.”

“What you did in there, it was pretty, uh, massively mindblowing,” Garcia says. The light has faded, just a little, as her hands once again wrap around files and she cocks her hip. “Do you always stun the socks off of everyone you come across or -”

“Only the ones I like.”

It comes out of nowhere, out of “Emily.” The little joke. But Garcia loves it, giggles, and bids her a farewell before going back to her office, leaving “Emily” there to watch her go. Feeling a little lighter as she does.

-

She radiates joy.

She watches Garcia with interest, as she settles into settling. Into going into work every day, a 9-5 that works like on-call. Watches her walk with confidence, lift her chin, let her hair down and then put it up again.

October is long gone, and February apporaches with blinding speed. It seems to hurtle toward all of them, like Garcia is willing the days forward, like she’s the reason that the sun sets. And as each day passes, Emily gets those blinding smiles, gets little stops by her desk, moments here and there where she gives her love so freely.

She bakes. She laughs. She jokes. She flirts with Morgan and blows kisses to Reid and Emily gets to sit there and take some, too. 

The drabble. Emily supposes they’re her friends, now. It’s an odd feeling, after being masked for so long. After pretending friendship, romance, love for so long, feeling it so keenly. From all of them, not just Penelope. 

Penelope. 

At some point she stops becoming Garcia. Emily knows her real name is still out of reach, but Penelope works just fine. Penelope gets her a smile. 

-

The problem with the Halloween is that there’s light and dark. So… much… dark.

Penelope brings out the photo as a joke, as a tease first and foremost and only, and Emily looks at it with a smile and a laugh and the embarassment she should. But she sees the style, and can’t help but wince.

“You edited this,” she accuses immediately, but Penelope just shakes her head, laughs.

“Nope,” she says, with a pop of her lips. “That hair is _alllll_ you.” 

So much dark.

It’s come and gone this year, Halloween, and the winter is in full swing. January sends Virginia into a bitter cold, but when Emily sees that picture it feels like it’s soaked into her, settled in her bones, and she’s reminded of the worst of October. There was a reason that year was particularly brutal for her, why her exterior showed so much of what she encompasses. 

Some Halloweens are just worst than other Halloweens, and she finds herself lost in that thought as the day wears on, as a case comes and throughout. 

She supposes Penelope _must_ catch it. Why else would she come by after they land and the BAU is back with an apology, a small smile, a new cup of coffee in a mug that has to be her own? It makes Emily smile, too, when she takes it. The bullpen is empty, it’s just the two of them and Hotch up the stairs, and she can’t help but cherish the way Pen leans on her desk, sits on it like she belongs. 

“I didn’t think about what it must feel like, October 31st,” the analyst offers, kicking the ground a little. “I kinda lose myself a little this time of year, I should’ve thought -”

“It’s okay, Garcia,” Emily says, but immediately rights herself with a small smile and tilt of her head. “Penelope. Really. Some years are just different. I’m sure you understand that.” 

Penelope nods, but she still seems uncertain, biting her lip. “I know, but, still. I should’ve known that it was something more than -” 

“A hilarious yearbook photo?” Emily counters, and holds up the picture again, still on her desk from when before they left. Immediately she twists her smile to match the photo, and Penelope takes one look and _snorts_. It’s such a vibrant sound that Emily laughs, too, and the two of them giggle the rest of the night, Penelope sticking around to walk Emily out, their hands grazing on an elevator that feels warmer than any chill. 

“If it makes you feel any better, you rocked that look,” Penelope says, and her eyes, bright even in the dim of the parking garage, make Emily’s cheeks feel red. “I mean, you’re always stunning, but… I don’t know. I like that little peek into what’s really in you, Emily Prentiss.” 

Emily thinks about that a lot. About the way her instinct is to reach out for Penelope’s hand and squeeze it, wonder if this year she’ll have a valentine.

“I’m an open book for you, Penelope.” 

-

There’s a lot of love when Valentine’s goes down, but the lonely hearts are out there, too. And Penelope feels all of them as the day approaches, that home stretch before the new Valentine. Emily sees her feel first hand, watches her hands tremble as the evening comes and her follows unload on her. There’s unending love on Valentine’s, but not all of it is requited, and Emily is there to hold Pen close as she takes it all and feels it so she can spread the love all year long.

“It makes me h-happy,” she says with a sniffle, looking at Emily as she wipes her face under her glasses, appropriately heart-shaped. “The day. Of course. And tomorrow w-will be better, that first day of recharge, but - but the few nights before you taste the heartbreak as much as all the love.”

“What does it taste like?” Emily can’t help but ask. Heartbreak. She knows the concept, but… the thought of that in her mouth… lingering… Penelope swallows, shrugging her cardigan back on her shoulders.

“Well, uh, not good, if that’s the question,” Pen starts, and says it with enough bite and verve that it startles a laugh out of Emily. Earns her a little smile, one still so lovely even with the tears down her face.

Emily takes a moment to brush one off of a blush-stained cheek. Uses her thumb to push it aside, and Pen leans into the touch, sighs a little at the affection. Before smiling

“It smells like rotten flowers, and it - it tastes like too dark chocolate,” she murmurs. “Sour grapes. And… salt. Lots and lots of salt.” 

“Tears,” Emily realizes, and when Penelope nods that’s enough to make the next move easy. To pull her close, tight against her, holding her close as she lets out another shaky sob.

The heartbreak will fade. And Emily knows what she’ll see. Penelope Garcia will come into work the next day with a spring in her step, bouncing on her toes, hair in perfect ringlets. She’ll smile with a bright lip and wave to all with delight. Derek will tease her about having a good night, and she’ll say how much she doesn’t kiss and tell. But Emily sees what she sees tonight, and holds Pen close, and wishes for a moment that she tasted the salt, too. If only so she could say she understood, and give that as the comfort that Penelope needed.

But she’s there. And that must count for something. Because Penelope doesn’t ask her to go, and Emily is all too happy to stay. To offer her drink after drink after drink of water, to get the bitter taste off of her lips as best she can.

She knows it’s useless, ultimately. It’s part of the penance. After all, asking that taste to fade is like asking the chill of Halloween night to be fixed with a blanket and something hot to eat, for the shivers to stop with a well-placed heating pad and a prayer.

But she knows if Penelope offered any and all of that on the evening of October 31st… well.

She wouldn’t say no.

So she offers herself to Pen, those days leading up to Valentine’s. Offers to spend the night and give what she can, sweet things she can make with well-worded instructions and a toaster oven or a microwave rather than an oven. Anything to attempt to wash away the taste of lovers’ quarrels and heartache and the salty sting of tears on cheeks. Comes over every night, holding hands and holding _her_ and pressing a kiss or two to her temple on the particular bad waves. 

“Thank you for being here,” Penelope tells her. 

“Thank you for letting me be,” Emily says back. One more kiss, on the cheek for good measure. 

And then the day comes. 

That morning, Emily wakes up on Penelope’s couch to the most brilliant smell in the world. Fresh coffee on the table in front of her, cinnamon rolls on a wire rack. The icing is perfectly melted on the outside, dripping down it, and Penelope looks absolutely radiant. There are strawberries and raspberries and chocolate for dipping them in, and the perfect amount of oat milk in a latte that Emily could only dream of tasting for the first time again.

“Good morning, my valentine!” she calls, and her cheeks are flushed a brilliant red from the heat of the oven. “I hope you’re hungry because I made… well, _way_ too much.” 

“You did _not_ have to do this,” Emily immediately says. Feels like an intrusion, her own energy, dark and dreary and all Hallow’s eve, when this home is so obviously warm and close to bursting with love. But then she’s wrapped up in arms that hold her tight, and she’s blinking at the feeling of all of Penelope against all of her, energy against energy, mixing and melding. 

“No talk like that today, Em, I forbid it,” she teases. She’s pulled back now, and her glasses are red hearts and her dress is so many shades of pink. In her heels their heights are equal, and Emily hasn’t even _showered_ yet. “I believe on my day I can do whatever I please. So get ready to eat up, and the rest we can take in to the team.” 

So much love in one look. In one smile. In one brilliant, incredible woman. 

“I’m your valentine?” she asks, a little breathless, and Pen’s smile goes shy. “You want that?” 

“I - I mean, yes. If you’d like.” Her voice is gentle, and her arms are still around Emily’s neck, where she had gripped her for the hug. They loosen the slighest bit, and Emily realizes that the bright shine of the apartment has weakened a bit, that Pen looks a little panicked. “Is that - is that okay? Because I can absolutely backtrack, the train does not have to leave any station that it is not ready for -” 

Emily is Penelope’s Valentine. Emily dares to lean in and kiss her Valentine, her brilliant, bright, and absolutely mind-blowing Valentine. 

And Penelope tastes no tears on the 14th, only bright red apples and something sweet like Halloween candy. 


End file.
